Fear: Of Tomatoes and Tuxes
by Lady Kes
Summary: Second response to this week's Unbound Challenge


**Title: **Fear: Of Tomatoes and Tuxes

**Rating:** G

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, CSI does not belong to me. All I own is a few hamsters and a slightly dim cat who keeps trying to eat the hamsters.

**A/N:** Partial credit for this story must go to my husband, who gave me the shopping trip idea in the first place. Additional credit goes to my beta CSIShipperGirl, who poked and prodded me into actually posting this.

* * *

Grissom eyed the tomato warily.

"Why are you giving my tomato a dirty look?" Catherine asked as she sliced it in the break room.

"You know I'm violently allergic to tomatoes. I don't want any tomato splatter getting on my dinner," Grissom answered as he moved his dinner farther from her.

Catherine rolled her eyes and seemed about to say something when Nick, Warrick, and Sara walked in, all carrying identical sheets of paper.

"Grissom, man, you didn't tell us you were being given an award at the annual banquet this Friday," Nick said.

Grissom shrugged and said, "It's no big deal. They've just decided to give me that because I published my two-hundredth paper this year. It's all politics."

"So you're not going?" Warrick asked perplexedly.

"I wasn't planning on it. Why get uncomfortably dressed up and schmooze with people I don't like anyway?" Grissom said with a slightly distasteful look on his face.

Catherine sighed, "How many times have I reminded you that you need to be more politically-aware? This is a big deal to the department, and it will not look good if you don't show up for your own award. Go, schmooze, drink free alcohol, eat bad food, then go home."

Grissom seemed to be realizing the unfortunate truth behind Catherine's words. It probably wasn't a good idea to snub an award, even if he thought the award was pointless. He conceded reluctantly, "I guess that means I'll have to get my tux cleaned then."

Catherine smiled triumphantly, but Sara had a strange expression on her face.

"Wait, Griss, you mean the tux you're wearing in that picture in your office?" Sara asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, of course, how many uncomfortable penguin suits do you think I own?" Grissom asked irritably. '_First Catherine bullies me into going and now Sara criticizes my wardrobe? What is this, pick on Grissom day?_'__

"Griss, that tux looks like it's from 1983; you can't wear that in 2004," Sara said quite firmly.

"It's from 1985, actually, and why not? It's still a tux, right?"

"Styles have changed just a little in the past twenty years, Gil," Catherine said patiently, "We'll have to get you a new tux. I'm sure there will be lots of press there and you need to look good. I'd take you shopping, but I've gotta go home to Lindsey. Boys?"

Warrick and Nick shook their heads before Warrick said, "Sorry, Cath, I think Nick and I will be occupied trying to find tuxes that fit before Friday. Why don't they give us more notice than this?"

"So they make sure we won't all arrange to be in Abu Dhabi that night," Sara said somewhat sardonically.

Catherine looked at Sara speculatively, and seeing the look, Sara preemptively said, "No way, I'm not taking Grissom shopping."

Catherine pulled her aside and the two women began a whispered conference that made Grissom more than a little nervous. He had no idea what was being said and probably didn't want to know, but the end result was a long-suffering sigh and nod from Sara. She looked at him and said, "Okay, I guess I'm nominated. How's one pm at Men's Wearhouse for you?"

Grissom agreed grudgingly and Catherine smiled slightly triumphantly.

* * *

Sara could see immediately that this shopping trip was not going to go smoothly. Grissom had a very sullen expression on his face and the salesman approaching them looked to be slightly more flamboyant than Nathan Lane.

"Hello!" he gushed as he greeted the pair. "Well, I can see the problem right off. You, sir, are in desperate need of couture!"

Grissom looked quite confused, "Couture? No, all I need is a new tux."

"Yes, of course, that's why we're here. What _kind_ of tux do you want?" the salesman asked as if he were speaking to a cute but slightly dim puppy.

With a raise of his eyebrows, Grissom said, "The black and white kind?"

Seeing that the conversation was headed towards the glaring-at-each-other stage rather rapidly, Sara pulled the salesman aside and attempted to explain the situation.

"Er, Cliff," she said looking at his nametag, "Dr. Grissom here has to go to a formal event this Friday. His current tux is about twenty years old, and there will be lots of people there that he really should be nicer to. A new tux would really help him out. He just needs a basic tux, so please don't put him in lime green."

"Don't you worry, sweetie, we will get him fixed right up," Cliff said as he grabbed Grissom's arm and manhandled him towards the dressing rooms. Once Grissom had had his measurements taken and been stuffed inside a dressing room, Cliff went around the store grabbing tuxedos of various styles while Sara watched in amusement.

"Okay, doll, here's a basic shawl collar tux with a traditional collar and tie since you seem very traditional," Cliff said as he opened the dressing room door to hand the tux in, inadvertently revealing Grissom clad only in his undershirt and boxers to the whole room. "Oh, hello big boy," Cliff finished, staring quite openly at Grissom's boxers.

Sara was slightly concerned that Grissom was going to go into a fit of apoplexy, but all he did was say, "Sara!" in a decidedly strangled tone. She decided to rescue him.

"Cliff," she said in a chiding tone, "stop harassing the customers or you'll never get a sale."

Cliff pouted, but said, "Fine, spoilsport," then, while Grissom was changing, whispered to Sara, "Is he yours?"

"What? No. No, he's my boss," Sara whispered back.

"Hmm, if you say so. What are you wearing to this shindig?"

"I have no idea. I don't dress up much, so I'll probably wear a little black dress. You really can't go wrong with those," Sara responded, slightly baffled by how perky this man was.

"Okay, then, we'll put him in a basic black and white tux so he'll look good next to you," Cliff said decisively.

"Wait, Cliff, we're not going together," Sara protested.

"Yes, but you just might leave together," Cliff said with a wink.

Sara had to laugh. This man was apparently incorrigible, and she would have said as much had Grissom not stepped out of the dressing room. Unfortunately she lost the power of speech due to the sight of Grissom in a tux. Even more unfortunately, Cliff had not lost his ability to speak and said, "My god, you are so hot!"

Once again, Grissom did not seem appreciative of the other man's opinion and said, "Sara!" in approximately the same tone as before. He then fidgeted with the collar and asked rhetorically, "Why are men's formal outfits so uncomfortable and stupid-looking?"

Cliff made a noise of disbelief and said, "What are you talking about? You don't have to wax half your body for formal events."

Sara couldn't resist this opening and chimed in, "Not to mention heels, hose, and makeup."

As distractions went, a 'dressed-to-the-nines' Sara was definitely in the top ten. It almost made Grissom forget how incredibly tight his collar was...almost. He was unfortunately jolted out of his happy thoughts by the infernally cheerful Cliff, who wanted to go look at 'accessories.'

"Accessories?" Grissom asked slightly confusedly.

"Of course: your studs, pocket square, new underwear."

"Wait, new underwear?" Grissom said in a panicked tone, obviously having thoughts about Cliff attempting to help him with his underwear.

"Well, yes. Those boxers have seen better days, and don't you want to be wearing nice boxers when a beautiful woman sees them?"

"No one except me will be seeing my boxers," Grissom said firmly.

"Sure, sweetie, whatever you want to believe," Cliff said with a pat on Grissom's lower back that was almost in the realm of bad touches.

Sara saw Grissom's face and decided that it was their cue to leave. Grissom paid for his tux and accessories, then left the store as if a herd of rabid hyenas were chasing after him.

* * *

It was quite amazing to see all the CSIs in their finery at the reception that Friday night.

Catherine was in a sequined red dress that appeared to be staying on by sheer force of will, Nick was in a basic rent-a-tux, Warrick was in a slightly more stylish rent-a-tux, Sara was wearing a slightly above the knee basic little black dress, and Greg…well, Greg was in the lime green tux with a ruffled shirt that Sara had asked Cliff to avoid. The five co-workers were standing around and chatting when Grissom entered the reception, which had the effect of stunning them all into silence.

Sara's first coherent and non-X-rated thought was '_Damn, that man looks even better than he did at the store_.'

Catherine, never being one to bite her tongue, immediately said, "Wow, Sara, you did a great job picking a tux!"

Sara smiled but shook her head and said, "It wasn't me, it was the rather...insistent salesclerk. I'll tell you about him sometime."

Grissom approached the group, grumbling under his breath about having to be there. Just as he pointed out to Catherine that he had only been there ten minutes and was already bored with the politics, a loud BOOM echoed throughout the room. The entire team dropped to the ground instinctively, with Sara somehow ending up on Grissom's lap. Before she had too much of a chance to ponder this situation, the room stopped shaking.

The team slowly got up and looked around. Everything, including themselves, was covered in plaster.

"Was that a bomb?" Catherine asked in a slightly dazed tone.

Warrick was equally startled, but his tone was more normal as he said, "I think it was."

Nick sighed as he said, "There went our night off – good thing I've got a spare set of clothes in my locker back at CSI."

As the team headed for the entrance to go back to the lab and grab their kits so they could start work on the investigation of the explosion, Sara hung back enough to say, "Well, Grissom, I don't think the rest of the rest of the night will be boring."

He didn't dignify her statement with a response, and she chuckled as he picked debris out of his beard.


End file.
